I dumped him because he didn’t want me getting a nose job.
I told him I felt bad because my nose was a little too long. I told him it threw off my symmetry. I know that I was born with natural beauty, a natural beauty that is near perfect, except for the nose. That’s not being vain, it’s being real. As real as a physician or judge or a scholar at a university admitting he possesses an intellect, in some respects, at least, greater than the average man.
And if you’re given such a blessing – a one in a million blessing like my beauty – then why not try to make it perfect? It seems like the right thing to do, not only for me but out of respect for whatever has bestowed me with my near-perfect beauty. My new nose won’t be just about me, it will be in service – a capitulation – to natural, perhaps universal aestheticism. I can feel aestheticism’s call. I am only a vessel for its essence to be fully expressed.
So I told him I needed a nose job but he wasn’t there to support me.
He asked me who I was trying to impress with a better nose.
I forwent all the fluff about natural aestheticism to say, “You. It’ll be for you.”
He said, “You’re a beautiful woman, even with an imperfect nose.”
He said he knew dozens of men who were plenty happy with women far less attractive than me. He said most men would be plenty happy with me and my slight physical imperfection.
So I said, “It’s not just you. It makes me feel weird at work too. People judge.”
He said my imperfect nose shouldn’t make me feel weird at work or anywhere else.
I assured him the surgery would be nothing major.
I said, “For me, the difference between an imperfect and perfect nose will be very slight.”
He replied, “The difference between balanced and imbalanced is very slight too.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. “Noses?”
“No,” he said.
“You ever stop to think if there’s as much grace and beauty in how we handle our imperfections as there is grace and beauty in perfection itself?”
He was dodging the issue. I told him I was sure there where whispers about my nose behind my back. I told him could tell.
He asked who was whispering. And exactly what they were whispering. I couldn’t be specific, but I said I knew.
He said nobody at work was judging me for my nose in any way that made any difference. He said far less attractive people than me are popular and get promotions. He said the evidence for that was everywhere. He said all I needed to do was look around and see it, if I wanted to see it.
I ended up dumping him.
I couldn’t be stuck with a guy who couldn’t support me in wanting to reach perfection. I know that absolute perfection is a fantasy. But we’ve got to have goals and aspirations. I mean, we’ve all got ways in which we can improve. And if he couldn’t support me in improving – in wanting to be a better person – a less anxious, self-conscious person about my nose – then I knew it was time to move on.